I pull up YouTube and search for the easiest way to remove a door. I watch a two-minute how-to video, dig Jensen’s tools out of the utility closet, and get to work.
It takes longer than I expect. One of the pins is jammed, and I wrestle with it, cursing under my breath. But with effort, and the last shred of patience I have, I finally get the damn thing off.
Jensen isn’t in his office, and his location is turned off, per usual.
I haul the door to our storage closet, rearrange a few things to make space, and lean it inside before shutting the closet door. Then, I return to the hallway to gather the pins and hinges.
I take the elevator down to the lobby and step outside. The cool, spring air hits my face as I drop the hardware into the nearest trash can. I walk away with a slight, satisfied smile, like this one small win somehow made up for the nightmare of a day I’ve had.
I don’t feel like cooking or making a mess just to eat alone, so I wander a few blocks to my favorite Mediterranean restaurant. If I’m going to eat by myself, I might as well enjoy it.
At dinner,I pull out my phone and glance at the last text I sent to Jensen.
Can you just let me know that you’re okay?
That was over an hour ago. My vision blurs as I stare blankly at the screen.
It’s almost been a year. A whole year since I realized what was happening—since Jensen first tried to detox. A year of living in hell, watching the love of my life slowly destroy himself… and our marriage.
My timeline is almost up, and I start to seriously wonder what I’m going to do. Am I really going to leave? Where would I even go?
The thought of trying to find a place to live in this economy makes me physically ill. I had great rent at my old place, but that was before prices exploded. Now, evenlookingfor something decent feels impossible, especially without Jensen’s income. And the thought of being single? That feels scarier than not having a place to live right now.
God, I don’t want to be divorced.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep, steadying breath, trying to quiet my mind. I hate when it gets like this, when I fixate on everything that could go wrong. But sometimes the weight of it all gets so heavy, my thoughts go to the darkest places. There’s even a part of me that wishes I’d just get a call—right now—telling me he overdosed. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. I wouldn’t be the wife who left her husband when he needed her most.
Holy shit.Guilt sweeps through me, gripping my subconscious in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
What the hell is wrong with me?When did I become such a monster?
My phone buzzes on the table beside me.
Jensen
Sorry, babe. I was at an AA meeting.
I stare blankly at the message, then swipe out without responding.
That’s his new go-to:Tell her I’m at an AA meeting so she can’t get mad—can’t question it.
Except Iammad. Idoquestion it. And Idon’tbelieve him.
I take a sip of my Guinness, because it’s been a day, and text Leo.
Hey, I know this is random, but I was wondering if I could come stay with you and Vivian sometime in the next month for a few days. I’m needing a visit home and Michael’s got a full house…
Michael and Stella have three kids now, one more than the last time I stayed with them. They’d still welcome me in. The kids are little, they’d happily crash on the floor, and they’d love to have me. But I want my own space. And if I’m being honest, I want to pick Leo’s brain.
He replies a few minutes later while I’m signing for the check.
Leo
Of course. When you thinking?
I don’t know. Maybe in 3–4 weeks? I need to check my work schedule. I’ll let you know in a few days. You sure? You checked with Vivian?
Leo
